her heart is liquescent
by Liberty Love and Roses
Summary: There is nobody to call her name, so she must do it herself to prevent herself from forgetting. Time passes, and it becomes habit. — Multi-chapter, Gruvia
1. atlantis girl

**Yo, yo, yo! I am back with MORE Fairy Tail. Even though I have my final exams. My priorities are NOT straight. (Now, I'm on holiday, so my priorities are a little bit straighter.)**

 **Anywho, this is a Gruvia two-shot! So I say, but really, this first chapter is devoid of Gray entirely. This entire chapter is good, ol' Juvia (her past), with some snippets of Gajeel.**

 **None of this is canon. At all. Sure, some parts are definitely inspired by canon stuff, but I ended up changing a lot of it (mostly because I couldn't remember what actually happened in the manga or anime, but ANYWAYS—).**

* * *

Juvia is an Atlantis girl, an exile, an orphan of the world, a woman of water. She finds sanctuary in the patters of rain, in the murmurs of waves and ocean expanses; temporary stays, until Juvia can finally find _home—_ the place where she belongs, where she is loved, accepted (Juvia absolutely won't acknowledge the waters as her home, because they _can't_ be; she doesn't want them to be).

Land and soil and earth do not welcome her. She doesn't feel the pain of the stones the little boys throw at her (they pass straight through), but she feels the emotional bruise of rejection.

Some call her invisible, others call her a ghost, and the almost-kind ones will dub her as "the rain girl". Nobody calls her Juvia.

So she bubbles back into the oceans, her heart liquescent, her body conjoined with the water, her tears lost within the salty ripples.

* * *

The water is ever-lasting, lonely. There is nobody to call her name, so she must do it herself to prevent herself from forgetting. Time passes, and it becomes habit.

* * *

Juvia yearns for touch, for acceptance, for people. She wants to be wanted. She is social by nature, and though the water murmurs, she cannot decipher any message. There aren't any.

Maybe on occasion, she will see secrets corked in glass bottles, drifting towards her. Juvia reads them, even though she probably shouldn't— but they are the only semblance of what she wants.

They are not enough.

* * *

Juvia doesn't want to lead this sort of lonely life anymore.

She braves the land once more; the little kids, the stones, the names will _not_ faze her, and she _will_ find herself a home amongst them.

She puts one foot out onto the sand, and grains clump between her toes. Juvia is too mystified to feel bothered. She realises that she almost forgot the feeling of everything besides water.

But when Juvia finally emerges from the oceans in her entirety, somebody punches her from nowhere and throws her into an iron box.

* * *

Juvia is a legend of sorts. Almost a myth. They try to convince her that she is a mermaid or a siren, and when Juvia firmly denies it, they slap her and tell her to pretend.

If they can sell her as a mythical creature, then they will profit immensely. One argues that they could probably still sell her for a high price regardless; water mages are rare, after all.

(— _Mage?_ )

Juvia wants to be wanted, but _this_ isn't what she meant. This isn't what she wanted when she stepped out. She just wanted to be happy— so why did it have to turn out like this?

Perhaps it is the water's wrath, for not being able to appreciate the one place that accepted her, for abandoning _home_ (Juvia can call the water her home _now_ , but there is no place for her anymore— karma has dealt its damage, critical of Juvia's wavering heart, her fickle-mindedness, her selfishness because despite all of this, part of Juvia still yearns for something _more_ ).

 _Drip._

Outside the carriage, rain drives down in torrents. Juvia doesn't realise what's happening until she hears her kidnappers scream.

* * *

Juvia stares, frozen, trembling.

She did this.

The large bubble encapsulating the men bursts, and they collapse to the ground, expressions paralysed in fear and shock, hands around their necks, over their mouths.

Juvia scurries over to the side of one of them. There is a pulse, extremely weak, but he isn't breathing. People can't breathe in water, not like she can.

 _He isn't breathing_. Oh God.

Juvia did this.

She doesn't know how to save him.

(She doesn't know if she should, either, but she instantly drowns the thought.)

The handcuffs are heavy on her wrists as she runs; the earth beneath her feet slashes at her skin. She squeaks at the pain. She leaves behind footprints of red and then the rain washes it away — but the earth is relentless, taunting her, screaming her crimes in her ear as if she didn't _already know._ But she doesn't; Juvia doesn't know enough. She is still juvenile. She doesn't know how heavy guilt is, how it ruptures her soul and wears her down.

She doesn't know how to distinguish the line between regret and thrill.

(The thought surfaces again: _perhaps, Juvia subconsciously did justice to the world. Maybe, Juvia did the right thing_.)

Juvia is still juvenile; the thoughts are too much, the emotions are too much, everything is too much, and she faints.

* * *

Juvia wakes up to the sound of crunching iron and a rough grip on her wrist.

"You're eating Juvia's handcuffs," Juvia says softly, her voice quivering as she eyes the boy with metal studs and untamed hair. She hopes that she comes across as incredulous.

His eyes are sharp, a deep onyx, lost when they match her gaze with a slant.

"And?" he barks, as if he can't identify his own peculiarity. Juvia doesn't flinch at his aggressive tone, more concerned about the fact that he's _eating_ _metal_. "Urgh." He grimaces. "Enchanted steel tastes shit."

Juvia cringes at his profanity, but even that is momentary, as it suddenly dawns upon her that this boy can _actually_ _bite_ into her handcuffs. Forget the fact that he's eating it, what in Magnolia are his teeth made of?

She doesn't dare ask.

When he leaves, Juvia follows, clumsy in her steps. He doesn't stop, but he slows down, and Juvia smiles.

Despite his rough appearance and mannerisms, the boy isn't bad at all.

(She asks him what a mage is and he looks at her with critical disbelief.)

* * *

His name is Gajeel, and he's apparently an iron dragon slayer from four hundred years ago. Juvia isn't sure if he has gone insane from eating too much metal.

"The fuck is it still raining?" He eyes her, and Juvia looks away. How cruel. He knows the answer as well as she does.

"Juvia doesn't know how to make it stop," she murmurs, and her turmoils cluster in her core.

The rain pours down harder.

* * *

Juvia tries sewing rain dolls to make the rain stop. It doesn't work, but it becomes a hobby.

Gajeel just looks at her sceptically and walks on.

One time, they wander through a village, and Juvia drops her doll from the shelter of her cloak. The white cotton becomes sodden in the puddle, the threads damp and the stitches unravelling.

She crouches down to pick it up, but a young boy stomps on it, sees her, stomps on it again. Juvia stares in dismay as he smirks.

 _Gloomy rain woman._

Next thing Juvia knows, the boy collapses and she is grabbing Gajeel's arm and running for dear life.

* * *

Juvia is fourteen when Gajeel and she are scouted for a guild.

Phantom Lord.

She wants to feel conflicted— while they are a recognised guild, they are inherently evil, villainous; but they are willing to accept her, teach her how to use her water magic. This is all she has ever wanted, and turning her water into a weapon is only a measly price, right? It's an easy decision.

Juvia says yes because she doesn't know how to say no, not to a deal as scintillating and appealing as this, and because she doesn't know how to distinguish the line between future regrets and thrill.

(And Juvia is only human, contrary to the belief of those children from her more juvenile days; she is not exempt from grey moralities and holding grudges.)

* * *

Juvia is sixteen and has stained her hands with the blood of many.

Nobody is dead (that would incur too many problems for the guild), but Juvia has fought and won all her battles, and even then, she continues attacking until they apologise or until they have fainted from their injuries.

They initiate it. They mock her and her rain, and they beat down her confidence until it swells into fury. The rain washes away the blood.

The guild members call her cold, ruthless. Juvia calls herself tired.

* * *

There might have been a time Juvia nurtured guilt in the depths of her heart for causing so much grief, be it by the misery of her rain or by the injuries she inflicted on her tormentors (how funny that she still victimises herself), but those days have long gone.

Her rain has washed away both the line and the extremities; there is no guilt or remorse or thrill.

Juvia just feels empty.

* * *

 **And that is it for the first chapter! The second chapter is halfway in the making, and will definitely be out before Christmas, for those who enjoyed this! Um... so where is this fic heading? No clue. I'm just going with the flow.**

 **But I'm going to warn you now, if you're expecting a happy ending: DON'T. But you may or may not be pleasantly surprised. I don't know.**

 _~Adieu!_

X's and O's,

 _Liberty!_


	2. calamity

**Did I say this would be a twoshot? Welp, looks like I lied.**

 **This is most definitely _not_ a two-shot.**

 **Also, this did not end up being released before Christmas. Whoops. It seems that I am a habitual liar.**

 **I suddenly had too many ideas for where this could go and I've written like ten different chapter twos for each idea, but this is the one I ultimately liked best.**

 **I don't even know how many chapters this is gonna be haha. I just have a very messy outline that I'm trying to follow.**

 **Also, btw, because of the way my idea is, Juvia will probably be a bit OOC just so that she fits in with this story better.**

 ** _Also_ , just because I have so many ideas, this chapter may still be subject to a lot of changes if I, somewhere down the line, decide on an idea I like better. If that happens, I shall be sure to warn you.**

 **Now, onto replies to reviews!**

 _ **silenttriumph**_ : _Thank you so much! I definitely agree that the fandom has been harsh towards Juvia, so I'm glad you think I'm doing her justice. The whole Atlantis thing was just something I initially wrote without much thought, but after actually thinking about it, I realised it could be a very fun idea to work with— and now it's gonna hold a lot of thematic significance lol. Also, now that this is no longer a two shot, the tragedy has been delayed, so you should be okay... for now. ;)_

 _ **Esketit** : Thank you very much!_

 _ **Guest (1)** : Thank you! Although, I must say, the rest of your review somewhat confuses me? A lot of characters in FT have tragic pasts, but Fairy Tail was never written to be a serious manga, and it was definitely never meant to be taken seriously, which is why Hiro can get away with giving them OTT personalities and turning them into comic relief. It just fits with the nature of FT. I personally don't think it's an issue, but I understand if you do._

 _ **Guest (2)** : Welp, this is an issue. Juvia is 100% going to fall for Gray, so if you dislike him and are against this ship,_ _you probably won't like the rest of this particular fic. Sorry to disappoint. (Also, it literally says Gruvia in the summary? Why you read if you no like?)_

 _ **Star197** : Yeah, I really liked their friendship in the manga, so I do intend to capitalise on it in this fic! No Gajeel in this chapter though, but he should be appearing again some time soon. Thank you for your review!_

 _ **glodenglowingsnowdemon** : Thank youuuuu_

 _ **I12Bfree** : Thank you! I shall warn you, her suffering only gets worse. Enjoy the ride, my lovely, mwahaha!_

* * *

 _her heart is liquescent_

 _Chapter 2:_ _calamity_

 _(Atlantis: the forsaken city that yearns for return but thirsts for revenge.)_

* * *

Sun, gilded skins of children building castles out of sand and shells and stone, sparkling smiles, chiming laughter; and Juvia, peeking out, watching, yearning, envious.

Everything is just beyond her fingertips, so _close_ — Juvia sets her toes out into the sand, but her knees are weak, unaccustomed; she stumbles, collapses. The sand castle crumbles into clumps of rubble.

Crumbling castle, sodden rubble; raindrops infiltrate the castle walls, seeping through, corroding it from the inside. The children look up.

The rain ricochets off of Juvia's nose, and Juvia can't peel away her gaze from the fallen castle, the bewildered children's faces as they peer up, scouring the sky for their sun.

The bewildered children's faces, peering up, gazes shifting to the outskirts of the beach, where the sand bleeds into their small village: how their eyes widen, how so many fall to their knees, how so many tremble.

Juvia doesn't understand, but everything is cold. Falling. Not just the sandcastle; collapsing roofs, crying elders and screaming children, rushing to the beach, away from the rubble, the unquiet floods, the destruction.

They scream at her. So many of them— _crying_ ; Juvia is crying, drowning in their gaping mouths, like whirlpools, dragging her in, a malice that crashes against her small bones.

The water screams, loud — they grate against her ears — abrasive words, malevolent song, the cacophonous cries of a perishing home, of tumult orphans.

The children throw rocks at her. Juvia doesn't feel the pain, but she first learns the agony of an emotional bruise.

 _Monster._

Juvia scrambles back into the ocean.

(But the village rises with the sun as Juvia returns below to her lost city; buildings are recovered, homes re-constructed. The waters calm, but Juvia's heart still yearns for the world beyond the sea.)

* * *

Juvia lies on the carpet, head pulsing, knees weak, breaths ragged. Moonlight filters through the sheer curtains, paints her skin pearlescent ( _Would mermaids or sirens have such glittering skin?_ Juvia wonders, swallowing down the bitter lump of resentment.)

Juvia clings to the bed support herself as she stumbles up, unbalanced on her feet, and she hurls herself back under the duvets, sighing deeply into her tightly clutched pillow and feeling her face warm at the graze of her breath.

She wriggles her toes. She wriggles them, kneading at the air, the blankets, letting the thick cotton catch in the crevices between them, trying to remember the feeling of using her feet because dreaming always makes her forget.

(It's just that they feel so _real_ — they were real, once. Juvia dreams frequently of her childhood, of when she first stepped out of the ocean and every time after, and her body helplessly relapses back to a time where walking was foreign.)

Her toes start to ache now. Juvia can't fall back asleep. Her heart is five again, restless and murmuring like the unquiet waters. Screaming waters — she still hears the thrash of waves, the sound of collapsing structures (the silence of sand, the groan of brick), the cries of survivors.

Her heart is five again. Her arms tremble and she sobs into her pillow, burying herself further underneath the duvet, hiding from sight.

Juvia didn't mean to harm anyone. Juvia didn't mean to do anything. It wasn't Juvia's fault, it can't have been— _she didn't know_.

She was too young, too innocent. Nobody ever told her about her magic, and nobody ever taught her how to control it. She was scared, too. She didn't know that would happen when she first stepped out. She didn't want to hurt anybody. She just wanted to make friends. She was lonely. _It was an accident_.

Two years had passed before Juvia stepped out of the ocean once more— her yearning for company triumphed her fear and confusion. First, there was sand uncomfortably clinging to the skin between her fingers as she crawled across; then, there was rain, a skittish drizzle as her heart thrashed in her chest. And then, the children: their groans when they peered up at the grey laden skies, before their eyes flitted to her and they collapsed to the ground, like their sand castles, overwhelmed by an initial fear as they anticipated another calamity.

Except nothing happened— there was only rain. One boy smiled, approached Juvia. She smiled back. He outsretched his hand, and her seven year old heart burst with excitement. Oh, she was so hopeful, so stupid, thinking that this would be the start of a friendship, of the company she long desired.

She went to take his hand — but then, an impact, against her stomach, the boy's foot — and Juvia grovelled into the sand, spitting and coughing and gasping for air.

Monsters and heroes, he said, pointing at her, and then himself. A game, he said.

Juvia played along. She tried to, anyway. She wouldn't let herself liquify in the spirit of the game, but after a point, instinct set in and the boy's foot passed through. He scorned her, called her a cheater.

Juvia was sorry, but the pain was too much for her. He didn't listen. The other children joined in and she scrambled back into the ocean (burdened body, heavy heart), with the internal promise she'd try again tomorrow.

Too many tomorrows passed in her naivety before she realised that it was never a game. She learnt that it was better to keep her defences up, but she never stopped trying anyways.

Looking back, she was such a fool, believing that her persistence would yield results, that she could one day win them over.

Juvia scowls (a stupid, ignorant fool).

. . .

. . . . . .

. . .

No matter how many times she stepped out, the disaster never occurred again. There was only ever rain.

Juvia assumes that staying within the oceans had kept her magic under control and that, eventually, age had allowed her powers to mellow, taught her body restriction— enough to allow the incident to never occur again, but not enough to prevent the rain from falling.

The children must have thought she was easy. There wasn't anything to fear anymore. They knew that Juvia was desperate and that she wouldn't dare attack them, and they took advantage of it. Juvia always let it happen.

But something changed when she was kidnapped. She doesn't know what or why, but there was another calamity, and she was the one who caused it—

(Juvia still feels sick, remembering them, remembering what she did. It's not her fault — she didn't mean to do anything. And even if she did, she would only be trying to protect herself. They were going to hurt her. Juvia was scared.

She chokes on the lump in her throat and presses the pillow against her mouth to muffle the sound of her coughs, the uneven rhythm of her breaths.)

— but Juvia's okay now. There's still rain, but Juvia can get it under control most of the time when she isn't fighting. Combat weakens her concentration and control, but Juvia's working on it.

(The sobbing doesn't stop—)

 _She's working on it._

(—and it patters softly against her windows.)

* * *

Juvia doesn't think she's ever seen eyes like his before.

A deep, cool, raw silver, abrasive against her obsidian stare, veiled in mystery, like the dark side of the moon, and her heartbeats rise for him like tidal waves (and Juvia feels like she is falling).

Oceans stir and thrash against her ribcage, and the feeling is so unfamiliar, so _complete_ , so much of a contrast to her her chronic numbness that she can't help but be drawn to him.

(She doesn't notice the rain starting to fall, the small, dark mosaics that begin to dot the small stone bridge.)

"Uh," he says, stiffening (his voice sends ripples through Juvia, and she shivers even as her cheeks burn), "do you need something from me?"

Juvia's blush deepens when she finally notices that she had cupped his cheek in her hand, and she squeaks, jumping back.

"No!" she exclaims. She peeks up at him, twiddling her thumbs and gulping. "Oh God, no. Juvia is very sorry for her inappropriate behaviour. She was just mesmerised by your eyes."

"Um, what?" He face crumples and he inches a step back, running his hand through his hair. He sighs heavily, and Juvia flinches in surprise when she realises that she can _see_ his breath, like translucent cotton, swirling into the air, and feel the warm summer— _rain?_ —crystalise against her cheeks. "My eyes?"

"It's summer," she breathes out. He raises a brow. "But I can see your breath, and my—" she pauses, looking up in bewilderment, praying that the shift in weather isn't because of her— "and _the_ rain around us is turning to ice."

"I have ice magic." He shrugs, slipping his hands into his jean pockets, glancing up at the sky with a narrowed gaze. He points up. "I guess this rain is yours?"

Juvia stiffens. "Summer rain isn't abnormal."

He scoffs. "It is when it was blistering just a minute ago."

Her cheeks tint red and she looks down, biting her lip. The rain can't be hers— it just can't. She's not in battle, so it should be fine, right? But what if it is hers? Does that mean she's losing control again? Her mind races, and the rain falls harder, heavier, and the stone dyes completely black.

The boy gapes in surprise. "What the hell?" he cries, before turning to her. "Make it stop!"

"Juvia can't!" Juvia squeaks, shivering, her breathing shallow and ragged. She clutches her head, presses hard as if the pain of her grip could infiltrate and consume her sporadic thoughts.

"Ah, shit," he mutters. She feels a hand, _his_ hand, rhythmically patting her head. Juvia jolts up straight, startled, but it only encourages him to pat her head more firmly. "Just _calm_ _down_."

Juvia widens her eyes in realisation and meekly nods, trying to stabilise her breathing. He continues to pat her head. It's comforting, she supposes, but his fingers get somewhat tangled in her hair and he consequently agitates it further with every motion.

"Thank you," she says, breathing in deeply, peering up at him. She giggles when she sees that he's awkwardly looking off to the distance, his expression disgruntled. "But Juvia must say, you're not very good at this."

He instantly retracts his hand, his brows furrowing in indignation. "What? You—" he pauses, blanking, before ruffling his hair and defeatedly muttering, "Shaddup."

* * *

The rain fizzles back down to a drizzle, and the surrounding people continue to complain as they run across the bridge, searching for the closest shelter.

Juvia twiddles her thumbs. "Juvia can't make it go away entirely," she says, turning to him. "She's very sorry."

He stuffs his hands back into his pockets, shifting his weight predominantly onto one leg, cocking his head as her peers over at her questioningly. "Why are you sorry?"

Juvia blinks. "Is her rain not a bother?"

"Not necessarily." He shrugs, his gaze flitting back to the sky. "Rain is pretty nice in the summer."

Her jaw drops slightly and her eyes widen. Nobody has ever complimented her rain before. Her chest flutters and her cheeks warm. "But— but it's cold," she argues.

"I'm an ice mage— I _thrive_ in the cold." He looks at her as if it's obvious.

Juvia feels the heat spread to her neck, and the rain is a little warmer. "Uh, um, yes," she stammers out, clearing her throat, "Juvia supposes you're right."

"Hey, no need to get flustered," he says. "Jesus, you overthink things too much."

Juvia gapes, almost in offence. "Overthink things too much? Juvia doesn't... she isn't— " Juvia pauses, purses her lips and stares blankly. He quirks a brow. A moment passes and for lack of better words, she responds drily, with a pout, "Juvia believes your phrasing is redundant."

He groans and throws up his arms. "See?" He points back at her. " _Overthinking_."

. . .

. . . . . .

. . .

"Who are you?" he asks. Some time has passed in silence, with the boy leaning over the stone railings and Juvia twirling her hair.

She stops twirling her hair, looks up at him in surprise. "Juvia is Juvia," she replies. She resumes twirling her hair.

"Would never have guessed," he deadpans. "What I meant was that I haven't seen you around before."

Juvia's cheeks burn red. "Are you perhaps—" she pauses, eyes wide. "Are you perhaps _flirting_ with Juvia?"

"What the fuck?! No!" He recoils away instantly but, in the process, trips over his half-removed shoe. His eyes widen and Juvia gasps as he loses his footing, the shoe flying above their heads, and his body tips over the railing. "Oh shi—"

Juvia squeals when he grabs her arm and they both tumble over, splashing into the waters. The birds beat their wings as the shoe follows.

. . .

. . . . . .

. . .

"You're melting," is all he says and Juvia doesn't know what to say.

. . .

. . . . . .

. . .

"You're naked," is all she says in response and she is so red and so flustered and oh, she's going _crazy_ — and he just nods like it's normal and Juvia can't believe she didn't notice it earlier.

(And oh, God, now she can't look away.)

* * *

 **Y'all know who this mystery boi is, and I'm not even gonna attempt to hide that it's Gray. (Juvia still doesn't know his name yet, though, so merp.)** **So yay, they finally meet! Is he OOC? It's been eons since I've last glimpsed at FT, so the specifics of each character's personalities keep slipping my mind lol.**

 **I like to think that this chapter was fairly light nearing the end, but I still intend to make this a tragedy, and even if I decide against making it a tragedy, it's still gonna be one hell of an angsty ride, hopefully, if I can write this the way I want.**

 **Also, random related thought, could this fic technically kind of be considered to have a first person POV? Simply because of how focussed it is on Juvia's perspective alone, and because Juvia only ever refers to herself in third person? Idk, maybe it's a bit of a stretch.**

 **Well that's me! Please review!**

 _~Adieu!_

 _X's and O's,_

 _Liberty_


End file.
